Sun's Getting Real Low
by Laura Schiller
Summary: Set after "Age of Ultron". She's always been the one to bring him back. But does she still have that right after what she did?


By Laura Schiller

Based on: Avengers

Copyright: Marvel Studios

"I take it the whole place is surrounded?" was the first thing Bruce said.

He spoke calmly, like he was talking about the weather, like finding Natasha Romanov waiting for him in his tiny cabin on Fiji was no surprise at all. Only someone who knew him well, and was also highly trained in the art of observation, could have seen from across the room that his hands were trembling.

"Just you and me." Natasha unfolded her legs and stood up from the wicker chair she had borrowed in his absence. "Plus a couple dozen soldiers on standby. Oh, and Iron Man in his biggest suit yet. He said to tell you it's a bitch to maneuver, so you'd better make it worthwhile."

"That sounds like Tony." Bruce put down his doctor's bag and stepped out of his sandals. "I thought I made it clear I'm not interested in whatever this new mission is."

"We need you. There's a creature called Thanos, and - "

"You need the Other Guy. Well, he's not here."

Bruce sounded tired; his strong shoulders were bowed, his shirt soaked with sweat from the tropical climate. Had he been making sick calls all day? He headed past her to get to the mini-fridge, still not looking her in the eye, even as he handed her a bottle of fruit juice with silent hospitality. She held the chilled plastic against her forehead.

"Is this about me pushing you down that shaft? If I'd known you were going to sulk for this long … " Damn it. She could talk a mob boss into revealing all his darkest secrets, so why did this man always have her saying the wrong things?

"I don't appreciate being made to fight against my will. You should know how that feels." Finally he looked at her. His eyes behind the round glasses were colder than the drink.

She paused long enough to respect that verbal dart; not too high, not too low, it hurt exactly the way it was meant to. "There was no time to persuade you."

"You know how dangerous it is to have me near civilians." He broke eye contact, a thick sunbeam reflecting off his glasses so that they looked as remote and inhuman as Iron Man's visor.

"I also knew that no one tears up robots quite like you. I made the best call I could under the circumstances."

She leaned against a table and took a long swig of juice, feeling less in control of the situation than she would like. Her own arguments sounded thin and threadbare in her ears. How did Clint handle his marital disputes with Laura? Not, of course, that this was remotely the same thing …

 _One of the secrets of a good relationship, Nat,_ her friend had told her once, _Is to apologize. Even if you don't believe you're wrong._

She rarely apologized, and then only as a joke. She hated to give in. But the ugly truth was that Bruce had a point; she still woke up with nightmares sometimes about the Red Room. There was nothing as horrible as having your choices taken from you. She knew just how much this dedicated healer hated becoming a force of destruction. She had pushed him anyway.

"I … may have made a mistake. I'm sorry."

He sighed, took off his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Sometimes, coming from him, this was a warning sign, but today she read it only as a sign of long years of weariness and sorrow.

"I accept. I understand why you did it, Natasha, I do. It's the Other Guy I can't forgive. I don't want him to hurt anyone else."

 _Love is for children_ , she had believed that for all her adult life, but this bodiless pain she felt for him was much too close. How could anyone mistake him for a monster? Empathy, that simple human instinct, crushed out of her in childhood and relearned with difficulty over many years, came so easily to him. She remembered Sokovia, remembered him carrying her to safety in his cupped hands.

"The Other Guy is _you_ , Bruce."

"I know. That's what I hate about him."

"No, listen - "

"How many people did he kill in Seoul?" He threw up his hands and raised his voice. This _was_ a warning sign, unmistakably so, but she didn't flinch.

"Seoul? That wasn't you," she shot back, hands on hips. "That wasn't even the Other Guy. It was Wanda with her mind control, and she's thoroughly learned her lesson about that. She's even sorrier than you are."

"You want me to come back … for Wanda Maximov?"

 _Paydirt._ For the first time, some warmth came back into those sad gray eyes, along with the barest hint of a smile. He had caught the irony in that idea as well as she had, but more than that, he cared. Empathy, yes, that was the key to how his mind worked. He cared about the sanity and peace of a fellow – what was the term SHIELD used? – a fellow Enhanced, even a former enemy.

"And for Stark," Natasha said lightly. "He's got no one to geek out with now about obscure scientific theories. He's pouting."

Bruce's smile deepened.

 _For me_ , she wanted to say. _Come back for me._ But would he listen to that, or would it only drive him further away? Talking him out of Hulk mode was easy compared to this.

"You're still you when you change, Bruce. You don't lose yourself completely. You still feel things, like – like loyalty or friendship. Especially … especially when you make the change of your own free will. I remember the Hulk, the Other Guy, whatever – I remember _you_ catching Iron Man when he fell after closing that portal in New York. We all thought he was a goner. And that made you sad."

"Yeah, I howled so loud it woke him up." Bruce chuckled. "He'll never let me hear the end of that. Idiot."

Natasha sincerely hoped that Stark was listening in over the communicator in her ear. She could just imagine the face he'd make under his helmet.

"And … in Sokovia," she added reluctantly, picking up the juice bottle again and draining it in a futile attempt to cool a rising flush, "After I forced you to change … the next time I saw you, I half expected you to squash me like a bug. Instead you saved me."

"I would _never -_ " His voice, though quieter this time, was intense enough to make the air quiver. He clenched his fists and took several deep breaths. "At least … I hope to God I wouldn't. If that bomb hadn't gone off, I honestly don't know … but it did. And no part of me ever wants to see you hurt."

He unclenched his hands and held them in front of him, staring down at his cupped palms. How much did he remember when he changed? She'd never asked him that.

"Does missing you count?" she dared to ask.

"You … missed me?"

"Don't make me say it twice."

She held up her hand, palm out, their old signal that the fight was over and it was safe for him to shrink down. This was the moment. Everything depended on what he would do next.

He crossed the room and touched her, palm to palm. Even in human form, his hand was bigger than hers.

"Sun's getting real low," he murmured.

It was. It picked up silver threads in his dark hair and gold in his skin. The entire shabby cabin was lit by wavering strands of gold as the sun set behind the palm trees.

"We can enjoy it from the helicopter," she suggested, intertwining her fingers with his. "Unless you'd rather have Iron Man carry one of us in each arm."

"I can't stand the cologne he wears. Helicopter it is."

"It's a date."

He linked arms with her like a gentleman and led her out the door into their next adventure.


End file.
